Forced
2006-02-26

The Training of Slave Girl Shana Ch. 02"Slave Shana, come with me. The Caterer needs help in the kitchen wish the dishes," said the Usher. He proffered the black, slip-on, heeled sandals which had mysteriously gone missing earlier in the studio. Shana rose without a word, gratefully slipped on the sandals, and went to the ladder. Once again, as she pulled the curtain aside and climbed down the ladder, the Usher unabashedly looked up her skirt, staring at the folds of her pussy as they poked out between the cheeks of her tush. Shana avoided the Usher's gaze and looked down at the floor. She tugged on the back of her skirt as she followed the Usher back down the narrow passageway, her bare feet softly slapping her sandals, while the sandals clopped on the concrete. The kitchen was a large restaurant scullery with walls of pots and pans, a walk-in fridge, deep sinks, a long grill, and wide counters. Shana looked around the place and wondered whether she would be allowed some more practical clothes, or an apron, but nothing was offered. The Usher left her in the hands of the Caterer, who was a huge, square-jawed man, with thick forearms and a booming voice. It was the only voice she had heard that day that came with any sort of smile. Shana was surprised at the relaxed demeanour and the thick Québecois accent with which she was greeted. "Eh, girlie! So yore our first slave, eh? We've never 'ad the likes of you 'ere before!" The Caterer's smile was like a piano keyboard. The eyes travelled up and down her slim body, taking in her pony tail, tiny outfit, her bare legs, her feet. "Wow," the Caterer interjected a low whistle, "You've got da best pair of legs an' ass I ever seen on a girl.

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Dat outfit tey've given you's pretty short, eh?" Shana blushed deep red and stared at the floor. The Caterer laughed. "Don worry about it. Relax, now girlie, you're with Daniel now. No need for dat submissive stuff. Wat's yore name?""Slave Shana, sir. ""Don call me sir, call me Daniel. Why don you 'elp me with all des damn dishes 'ere. Everywon 'ere eats so damn much. " The Caterer gestured to a large row of sinks filled with dirty dishes and a huge spray nozzle dangling from a flexible pipe. Stainless steel shelving above revealed where the clean dishes would end up. "Der's de detergent, ne c'est pas. An we got 'ot water 'ere, so don be afraid to use it. Dry 'em and stack 'em on de shelves. "Shana went over to the sink, grabbing the dish soap and the scrubber.

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The Caterer watched her from behind as she worked. Every time Shana leaned forward a bit with the spray nozzle, or reached for a dish, her skirt would sneak up to just below her cheeks, giving a hint of what wasn't underneath. He watched when she went to put a stack of dishes away on the shelf above. She stood up on her toes, reaching, and the skirt popped up over the limit, and revealed the first inch of her bare bum. She leaned further forward, lifting a bare leg behind her and pointing her toes for balance, her calf muscles tightening, her leg straight, her bare tush showing, with the lips of her vulva barely discernable. From the silence behind her, Shana knew she was being watched again. She wasn't sure whether the Caterer was like the Understudy - whether she was allowed to hold her hand behind her, or tug her skirt down when she leaned forward. Just the same, she glanced over her shoulder at the Caterer as she straightened up. The Caterer's eyes flicked up from her exposed behind and met her gaze. Embarrassed, he turned away and started wiping the grill range counter with a rag. Shana finished most of the dishes in half an hour, while the Caterer rapidly sliced vegetables and puttered in and out of the walk-in fridge, loudly whistling what sounded like an ancient folk tune. Inside the walk-in fridge, he would indulge in singing out loud ("Ah toi belle hirondelle qui vole ici, As-tu vu dans ces îles mon Alexis. . . !") He finally called after her, "Hey girlie, dat's pretty good, alors, come on over here and sit wit me a while.

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" Shana smelled the sulphur as a match was struck, and the hissing flare of yellow was put to the end of a pipe.

She came over to where the Caterer had pulled up two beaten chairs by the grill range, and sat down. She kept her knees firmly together, her hands folded in her lap to weigh down the little skirt, and arched her feet to keep just her toes resting on her sandals, as the Understudy had commanded. The heels of her sandals clunked to the tile as she arched her toes. "I ain't supposed to smoke dees in 'ere, but eh tabernac, no one ever come 'ere anyway. " The Caterer puffed contentedly. "An' we get da real tabac free from de Master! So 'ow old are you?""Twenty-three," said Shana softly. "Eh? And your from aroun' de mountain, ne c'est pas?""Yes. From Westmount. "The Caterer clucked sympathetically. " I can tell from yor accent. Me, I'm from Gaspese, you know?"Shana said nothing. "You're so quiet, girlie, you know you can talk to me, its alright, eh? Wat's the most interesting thing you seen 'ere so far?"Shana hesitated a moment. "The books in my chambers. "The Caterer laughed heartily.

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"Oh yah, da books! Man, dat breaks me up. De Master, you know, 'e liked to read long ago, ne c'est pas, but 'e's de only wan, you know? He trows dem at everywan 'ere, but only 'e reads em. I got em in my room, too. But I can't read a word! Specially not anglais! Can you?""A little. ""A little?""My father taught me. ""Your fadder eh! Wats 'e do?""He runs a scrap shop. He used to be in the army. ""Oh yah eh? Which wan?""The Liberation. He was an artillery officer. ""Huh. He retire?""No, he was discharged. He went deaf. ""Oh, dats sad. Why 'e go deaf?""His unit was shelling the Parliament buildings from the Gatineau Hills. ""And?""The Van Douze shelled back.

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""Oh, I see now. " The Caterer pulled on his pipe. "So den wat?""My father set up the shop and we did our best. ""No pension from de force?""The Liberation force? Who has pensions?""Naw, right, right. Eh, girlie, you preddy smart for you, eh? Why you 'ere den?""We need the money. Father can't pay the rent for the shop, he can't sell much anymore. ""Wad he sell?""Anything. Anything he can get his hands on. I used to go out scavenging for him, collecting whatever I could find. " "So now yore parents sell you into slavery?"Shana smiled for the first time that day. "No," she said, "I got hired as a slave. For more money than my parents could ever hope to make. It's something called an indenture. ""I was t'ought slavery was were you work for nuttin', no pay, just bread an' water. I t'ought maybe de Master waz really goin nuts, ne c'est pas?" The Caterer twirled his finger next to his head.

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"I guess that kind of slavery is illegal. It's been illegal since, I don't know, forever. Except in other places. I'm a paid slave, I guess. An indenture. I have to do whatever the Master bids or I get fired or punished. I'm supposed to act like a slave and do slave chores or something, but it's still a job. I can quit. I think. I don't know, actually. But we. . . my parents and me, we need the money. ""Huh.

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Sounds like de rest of us, ne c'est pas?"Shana giggled. "I think I'm a little different from the rest of you. ""Yeah, coz your wearin dees sexy tiny outfits. Wall, I tell you wad, de Master, 'e's goin like you, being so bright an all. Wid your reading an all. Maybe 'e treat you bedder. You seen 'im yet?""No. I'm still in training. ""Well, I 'aven't seen 'im either! But 'e must have t'ought you were pretty smart to 'ire you, eh. ""He never saw me.

The Understudy hired me. There were ten of us. ""Esti fuck la! Wad 'e do? Interview you all?""He made us strip our clothes off and walk around in front of him, in our underwear. "An awkward silence followed. The Caterer said nothing, and pulled on the pipe.

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Shana looked down at the floor. "He said to me, 'That's the body I want. You're hired. '""Well now. Well now," the Caterer muttered, "Dat's a liddle more about de Understudy I din' know before. I 'ope you was 'ired for de Master an not for de Understudy. "More silence followed. Shana noticed that the Caterer was looking frequently at her bare legs. Her toes hurt from keeping them just touching the floor. Guessing the Caterer was not going to mind, she kept her hem weighted down by her hands while she crossed her legs. The skirt hem pulled away from behind to expose a vast swatch of bare thigh. The Caterer's eyes didn't miss a moment or a detail. She let her free foot arch, to stretch her toes, but this only made the Caterer stare at her pointed toes, the sandal dangling suggestively off them. She looked at him. The Caterer looked up and smiled.

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"Sorry. We don 'ave no girls 'roun here, you know, till you came 'ere today. " There was another awkward pause, and then the Caterer dropped his voice down and quietly asked, "I saw you in de corridor earlier wid de Usher. Dey made you go in bare feet? No shoes?""I'm a slave. I guess I'm meant to," she answered softly. "Why did dey give you such a short dress wid no panties, eh?"Shana blushed and stared at her toes. "I. . . I don't know," she whispered. "I don't want to talk about it. "The Caterer looked away. Shana continued to stare at her toes. The Caterer cleared his throat and began again, in a normal voice. "Eh la, bud look, you make shore your treeted right, ok? You come tell me if you wanna talk.

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I t'ink your very nice, so come talk to Daniel wan you got troubles 'ere, ok? I'm not like dees udder types. I jus feed dees animals, you know?""Okay," Shana whispered. "So wat do I do wid you now? De dishes are done. Nobody 'as come for you. ""Can I ask a question?"The Caterer laughed. "Of course you can! I'm not de Understudy. ""What time is it?"The Caterer pulled a timepiece out from somewhere under his apron and glanced at it. "Jus after seven PM," he said. "Why? Wat time you get 'ere today?""I don't know. Maybe noon. ""You 'ave no watch?""No. They took my clothes away. ""Huh. I gess dey really wan you to be a slave. You don' know time, you don 'ave no windows, you ged kinda silly.

"Shana uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other way, her bare thighs softly hissing against each other. Shana could see the Caterer was trying to look up her skirt. His eyes watched with interest, before he put his pipe aside, reached down and gently took hold of the ankle of her crossed leg - the one with the bracelet. The Caterer lifted her leg up, straight out. Shana nervously kept her hemline weighted down with her hands, but arched the toes of her outstretched leg for him, as she thought the Understudy would likely have demanded this sort of etiquette. "I wan see dis bracelet," the Caterer murmured, "Dis is yours?" "No. The Understudy says I'm never supposed to take it off. " Suddenly, he looked over her shoulder and dropped her foot quickly and stood up. Shana looked around and saw the Usher. She instinctively slid off the chair onto her knees. The Usher paced in, slowly, staring at the Caterer with a look of distaste. "'Allô, sir," Daniel said softly. "Have you fed the slave?""Pardon?""I said, have you fed the slave?" The Usher enunciated his words icily. "No, no sir, not yet. ""Feed her now.

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Then send her out. ""Biensu- yes sir, I will," he said nervously. The Usher stared hard at him a moment, and then turned and slowly walked out. Shana stayed on her knees. There was awkward silence, and the Caterer pulled his pocket watch out, fumbling with it, and polishing the glass face with his apron, before sighing. "Les barbares bêtes," he muttered quietly. "Tabernac. . . "Then he seemed to brighten. "Eh, so are you 'ungry? You der, ged up and stand on yor belles legs for me," the Caterer boomed. Shana nodded, and rose slowly. She hadn't eaten all day. "I ges I'm da guy who feed you den, eh. Okay, waid a minute for me.

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" The Caterer disappeared into the walk-in fridge, before returning with a slab of roast beef. He reached for some bread, produced a knife from somewhere else, and carved off thick slices of the roast. "I make a sandwich for you. I 'ope dat's ok?" Shana could only nod. No one had mentioned meals to her all day and, she thought, surely a slave had to be fed once in a while. "I done fed everyone else early dis evening in da dining hall outside, you know. Den de Master, 'e eat alone, I t'ink. 'E don' seem to eat much. " The Caterer made a sandwich and brought it to Shana. "Thank you," she said, taking it gratefully and sitting back down on the chair. She weighed down her hem with one hand and made short work of the sandwich in her other. The Caterer continued to watch and chuckle. Shana felt like she was on display, but - then again - she was. "Yep, you waz 'ungry," said the Caterer, relighting his pipe. sirwhereareyou@hotmail.